"There are times when I'm dreaming."
Bucky Barnes knew it. James knew it.
He knew that the red-haired ballerina was Natasha Romanoff. The Russian which he trained in the Red Room was Natasha Romanoff. The woman who was his clandestine solace was Natasha Romanoff. The assassin that would make him laugh was Natasha Romanoff. The spy that he'd visit secretly was Natasha Romanoff. The mysterious person who entered his dreams was Natasha Romanoff. The face that he would remember when he was seated in the despicable chair, belonged to Natasha Romanoff; he knew that when he wakes up, he would not longer possess the sweet memories that made his existence easier to endure. Those memories he tried to keep hold of were memories of Natasha Romanoff. No blood, no beatings, no screaming, no snow, no yelling, no train. Time with Natasha was the only memory Bucky thought were worth to treasure.
Because Natasha Romanoff is Natalia Romanova. She was different, but somehow still the same.
To him.
For the first time in months Bucky and Natasha trained with each other. They fought powerfully; punches were thrown and blocked and kicks elicited groans. A metal hand seized the neck while acrobatic turns and graceful flips confused and asphyxiated the opponent. Extricating was a simple process, evoking irritation from the attacker. With every rapid shot, a pant followed dutifully. Sweat rolled down focussed faces as the clock ticked by. No, this was too basic for the ruthless assassins. Widow bites were tossed, temporarily paralysing the soldier. But his incredible strength and inconceivably quick reaction-time ruined her strategy. A razor-edged knife: being light on her toes enabled her to dodge his every swipe and stab. They moved across the floor like a pair of dancers. But he was faster; a quick swing to her right and a small incision was made on her arm with the blade. His finesse with knives were impressive to say the least. It stung, but it didn't stop her in the slightest. After a safe distance away, she observed him. The foe stared at her wound. Apologetic. Red painted the fabric of her sleeve as blood continued to ooze out. She looked at it for the first time; Natasha underestimated the size of the laceration. A stitch could be helpful. Decisively, the soldier placed the knife in his pocket. An unusual move during a fight. A halt.
Bucky declared a time-out, finding the first-aid kit. Natasha agreed, deciding a short break would be nice after an hour of aggressive training. She enjoyed it greatly. He cleaned the gash with a delicate touch. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he wrapped a thick white bandage around her arm. Natasha smiled subconsciously, amused by her conclusion that he was more attentive at this little task than the entirety of their training. He fretted constantly, asking her if he was pulling the bandage too too tight. She shook her head at his over-cautiousness. It was beautiful and bizarre to see him capable of destruction, yet be so careful and gentle at the same time. They rested, revitalizing themselves with water for round two.
"You know," Natasha said thoughtfully, "Fury probably would let us train the newly recruited SHIELD agents if we asked him. What do you think? The Winter Soldier and Black Widow. We just gotta make sure we don't scare them too much." A echo of laughter trailed at the end of her idea.
"Wouldn't be the first time I teach someone how to kill," Bucky noted. Natasha understood the incidents of his harrowing past implied in his nonchalance. He wasn't just Hydra's slave. He was a Soviet superior at some point as well. A teacher on the arts of warfare.
"You're a good man, James," she murmured. If only he could remember how much good he tried to do, even as Hydra's weapon. No matter how much they tortured him, they could never destroy that part, because goodness was an intrinsic part of his very being, and that part would always stay with him. Even though he'd convinced himself that be deserved to be punished for his crimes, that he was a bad person- even if he failed to see his own inherent quality- she would never stop reminding him.
He stared hard at the gun clenched in his metal hand. How many times had he used a similar weapon and aimed it an an innocent face? "No, not really," Bucky glanced sideways at her with a strained expression, "but you're the only one who understands that."
"You and me. We're made of the same stuff. I just hide it better," she told him. He believed her. It was strangely commiserating.
The edges of his mouth twitched, hinting at a small smile. Natasha Romanoff had a unique way of helping him. He'd see her interact with others differently, a tougher form of comforting. A bored expression and then a monotone borderline sarcastic comment followed by an eye-roll. She told Sam to "get over it" when he delivered a heartfelt monologue about his non-existent love-life, and gave Barton an indifferent shrug when he got shot in the leg one mission. Natasha sighed exasperatingly when Wanda started an emotional vent about how much she missed her dead brother, and stared blankly when Vision opened up about his insecurities about being an android.
Steve advised him not to talk to Natasha, sheepishly citing that she may not be the most comforting of all people. Bucky nodded without much thought. He wasn't exactly the most comforting people wither. But they developed a unique way of being sympathetic towards each other without a hidden sense of pity. He liked her succint advice, her rare smile, and most of all, she knew what he felt without him even talking. He hated the false understanding people pretended to hold when he talked to them. It was like talking to a therapist; they never truly understand. But Natasha does. But sometimes he wished he could believe her when he told him he was a good person. When they visited the museum together, he'd never seen her talk so much. Her eyes bright and non-stop chatter about how great he was. Howw great Bucky Barnes was and still is. It was like listening to Steve talk all over again. He wished he could trust their words. At some point he did. But the flashed of red blood dripping, clatter of weapons and nightmares full of screams flung him back to square one.
"Thank you... Natalia."
Hearing her real name from his lips stunned her. She examined him, smothered in a semblance of sudden confusion, odd worry and utter surprise. It was as if the name accidentally slipped out. But Bucky's anticipating expression indicated the opposite. Natasha took a deep breath, as quietly as she could, to calm the sudden spike in her nerves. Bucky's body slowly turned to her, a knowing look glowing in his eyes. It was impossible to recover her slip-up in composure, it was already ingrained in his memory. She swallowed as he stood up in front of her, full height.
"You know me." It was an irrevocable statement. His eyes gazed deeply into hers, as if challenging her to say anything different.
She folded her arm, looking back firmly. "Yes, I do," Natasha answered with subtle tone of relief.
"Why didn't you say anything?" There was a broken edge to his voice that matched a hue of betrayal in his blue eyes. Natasha felt a surge of hidden guilt unleash inside her.
"You had to find out yourself." Natasha avoided his piercing stare, suddenly finding the wall behind him more fascinating.
"Dammit Natalia," Bucky growled darkly. "I had a right to know! It was my history too. My life. Why didn't you tell me, huh? What if I never remembered? Would you still hide it from me, Natalia?"
Natasha looked up, a glint of regret and desperation in her eyes. There were times, many times, she wished she could just blurt everything out. Tell him about the Red Room, tell him about their missions, tell him about their time together, and how much he meant to her- how much he still does. But there was a memory that instantly shut down any incentive she mustered to do all it:
The Soviet handler pulled her arm as he walked quickly. Natalia knew there would be bruises afterwards. She tried to walk fast behind him, but his grip and force on her body was too strong for her physically drained body to oppose, so she gave up. He lead her downstairs, further down to a level she had never entered. As they took each descending flight of stairs, the lights shone less brightly, and the building look older. This lower floors were strictly off-limits, unless you were a high-ranking scientist or a handler. Her heart bat faster with a combination of anticipation and dread.
He lead her down a dark corridor. She could hear their heavy footsteps, mechanical whirring, and the sound of her breath panting from exhaustion. After several rooms, he pushed a metal door open, and releasing his tight grip on her forearm as he threw her unceremoniously on the cold ground. She pushed herself off, rubbing a hand on the red mark it left, shooting his insanely exuberant face with a silent glare.
"You vanted to see your lover, yes? There he is, my darling," he announced, a mouth forming a delirious smile, taking delight as fear suddenly engulfed her face, her green eyes laced with uncertainty.
"Hydra will not be happy when they find out what their precious soldier did. I can't imagine what they will do to him. Poor thing," he taunted. "You, unlike him, should consider yourself lucky girl. Lucky indeed. Perhaps they spared your life because you are best Black Widow. You are of much use. To us. But, Natalia Shostakova, your husband-"
His speech was drowned by a deadly silence that surrounded Natalia's mind. Her wide gaze fixated on a large metal object that had pipes fitted through it. Next to it was a monitor displaying the internal vitals of a human being. Her feet dragged her body towards the object; it somewhat resembled to a chamber. Her face blanched as her eyes focussed on a face behind the glass. Her breath trembled erratically as a excruciating mixture of fright, guilt and terror flooded inside her. Natalia's mouth fell open, staring at the frozen face behind the window pane. Tears welled up in her eyes instantaneously, her hands automatically clamping over her mouth as a shriek pushed it's way out. She recognised him.
"What have they done to you!?" Natalia whispered, unadulterated horror permanently covering her face. She stared as James's blank face, only a layer of ice and machinery preserving his life.
James's eyes were close, his strands of hair still and his lips in a thin line. He knew they were going to do this to him. He was ready, she mentally concluded. A strangled sob tore through her, unable to contain the massive lump in her throat. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to forget the horrendous image she just witnessed, allowing her tears to freely stream down her face. It was her fault he was in this state. She could have prevented this from happening. He didn't need to suffer more than he already had. She should have done something. How was she so stupid?
A callous hand grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks. It hurt, but not as much as the emotional trauma that ached every part of her being. He forced her to look at his sadistic face.
"This is what happens when you show weakness," her handler pulled her face towards the cryogenic chamber forcefully and then back to him, her eyes red from the crying. "Love is for children, you silly little girl. Remember that and it will do you better."
Natalia nodded meekly, her body tired and numb. They don't have a choice. She doesn't have a choice.
Natasha had suppressed any deep romantic inclination towards anyone, after all "love is for children" was imprinted in her mind after that fateful day where their secret was discovered. What if continuing this relationship was wrong, what if something worse could happen to him because of her. Were they destined for a tragic love? Could she allow herself to go through the same heartbreak again?
"It ended, Barnes. What w-we had doesn't exist." She was scared. Scared that they would be ripped apart again. Scared because she didn't know what she would do if she lost him again. It was irrational, but the scars of their separation hadn't fully healed. A heart-wrenching reminder off her past. She liked pretending she was fine. Too pretend that her past doesn't prick her. To pretend that she was happy. But she couldn't pretend with Bucky.
"Bullshit," he muttered almost immediately after, "that was because of Hydra and the KGB." He reached out for her arms. "We have a choice now." Bucky's optimistic smile was contagious. In that instant, he looked just like her James.
Natasha didn't try to resist when his warm hand wrapped around hers, finger entwining. He pulled her gently towards him, and she became captivated by how clear and exposed his eyes were. They were normally unfathomable, unreadable, and his emotions were always tucked away in the deep depths of cold blue. Yet, Bucky was willing to take of his neutral mask for her. In that moment, Natasha lost the energy to cruelly remove Bucky's hand from hers. She lost the weak intention to walk away; she lost the expert ability to lie, refuse, and not feel anything.
She could no longer stay numb.
The metal hand in her hair was dangerous; a product of destruction. But Natasha had never felt so safe. Bucky stayed like that, not wanting to exert any sort of force on her. If she wanted to leave, he would respect her choice and let her go, painfully so. But to his glee, she grasped his collar with her other hand, pulling him down closer to her mouth. He hungrily responded, his body molding over hers in a perfect fit.
His body surrounded her like a steel cage, yet she'd never felt more free. Like a bird soaring past the highest cloud. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax in his arm, relishing the sheer heat of their lips pressed together. As the intensity increased, her worries drifted into oblivion.
The Winter Soldier: a programme, an experiment, created to send people to their graves; give out their untimely deaths. Just like her. But here, Natasha felt more alive than ever. Electricity shot through her, a passionate jolt of warmth that melted the icy walls around her heart. The achingly familiar smell of faint rust entered her nose, and she remembered the same sweet taste of his lips as clearly as if it was only yesterday she had kissed him.
A ruthless monster and a ghost story, they said. But he was her saviour; her unlikely hero. A prince she found in the pits of hell suffering alongside her. It sounded so cliché, and so unlike Natasha Romanoff, but in this beautiful, beautiful moment she didn't care.
She didn't care about anything, except the intoxicating love rushing through her veins. James remembered her, Natalia Alianovna Romanova. There was no Hydra, no KGB, no rules, no punishments to break them again. There was no fear hindering their love. She and James were together, and to Natasha that was all that mattered.
"Am I interrupting something?" The archer awkwardly announced. Well, if it wasn't the KGB or Hydra breaking them apart, probably be Clint Barton, Natasha thought humorously. "I just wanted to try out the new archery range, but if this is a bad time..."
They broke apart reluctantly after what seemed like hours. Natasha grinned as Bucky threw him a death glare that seemed to shrink Barton. Somewhat intimidated by the possibility of suffering the wrath of the two Russian super-spies and super-assassins, and overall the scariest people he has ever met, Clint quickly back-tracked and retreated from the gym. Satisfied with his disappearance, Bucky leaned down and captured her lips once more. She cupped his face with her hands, melting once again in his strong embrace. Natasha Romanoff got the happy ending she didn't expect.
Perhaps fate wasn't so cruel after all.
Scars fade, but a remnant always remains.
You simply need someone to realise they can be healed;
someone who's willing to be your unbreakable shield.
Cruel games are often played by fate,
long and sad years the test makes you wait,
so that it can find your loving soul-mate.
He's standing with open arms in the harsh rain,
A smile graces your face;
it makes you think...
maybe it was worth the pain.
I wrote that little poem myself (just a random burst of inspiration from the story title). I hope I delivered a satisfying happy ending to my readers and justice to the characters.